“Well, Lily, I am the queen of Camelot, and I choose my own company.”
“Yes. I have noticed.” Guinevach glowered. Then that rosebud smile bloomed firmly back into place. She turned to the arena. Sir Gawain waved at them and Guinevach stood, waving back. “Oh, good, it is time!”
“Time for what?”
“Our turn!” Guinevach took Guinevere’s arm and forced her to stand, half dragging her from the booth and down the steps to the arena floor. The boys had finished training and were putting gear away and shuffling out, rubbing bruises and flushed with exertion and, in most cases, happiness. “Sir Gawain!” Guinevach released Guinevere and hurried toward him.
Guinevere walked a few steps behind her, unsure how to get out of the situation, or what the situation even was. She had never been on the arena floor before. It smelled like packed dirt and sweat, and there was a hint of iron, as well, whether from the weapons or the not insignificant amounts of blood that had baptized this space over the years she was not sure. It had not always been used for training bouts. Before Arthur, its purposes were far more violent entertainments.
“Princess Lily.” The young knight bowed. As an afterthought, he quickly added, “Queen Guinevere.” His bow was much less deep. Lancelot looked over at them from where she spoke with Sir Caradoc and Sir Percival, but it did not look like a conversation she could easily escape from.
“Did you bring them?” Guinevach asked.
“Yes, of course!” Sir Gawain rushed to the other side of the arena and dragged two bales of hay into place. Then he used a couple of daggers to pin up cloths painted with targets. Sir Gawain loped past them and returned with two small bows and two quivers of arrows, which he presented with a flourish. “As requested!”
Guinevach took a bow and a quiver, then looked at Guinevere. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
Guinevach laughed. “I could not believe it when Sir Gawain told me they had never seen you shoot! My sister, who could best all the men by the time she was twelve! Come, I have waited years for you to teach me.”
Guinevere looked at the offered bow and arrows with horror. She had never touched one in her life. This was a test, and she would fail it beyond question.
Guinevere had wanted to be a viper lying in wait for enemies, but Guinevach had her beat. Guinevach knew she could not declare Guinevere a fraud, not with King Arthur supporting his queen. But she could slowly and surely poison everyone against Guinevere, undermine her place here, point out her deficiencies until no one could deny that their queen was an imposter.
It was genius. And short of accusing Guinevach of witchcraft and
having her driven out of Camelot, there was no way Guinevere could combat it. She had already publicly declared Guinevach her sister. Everyone adored her. Guinevere was trapped.
She had faced an evil king, rescued herself from kidnappers, stopped the Dark Queen’s forest attack and her wolves, and yet this girl was outmaneuvering her.
“There you are!” Arthur’s voice flooded Guinevere with relief. She watched as he strode across the arena floor to them. He looked puzzled at the scene. “What is this?”
“King Arthur!” Guinevach curtsied prettily. She really could blush on command. “I wanted my sister to teach me how to shoot. No one is better with a bow than Guinevere.”
Arthur took in Guinevere’s panicked expression. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to think of a way to get her out of the situation.
“I have not practiced since leaving for the convent,” Guinevere said. “It was not allowed.”
“Oh, come now. Some things you do not forget.” Guinevach’s smile faded as Guinevere did not move to take the bow. Her voice dropped, the sweetness turning sharp. “Why will you not do this?”
Arthur stepped forward and took the bow and arrows from Sir Gawain. “Not today, Guinevere. I do not want you to risk increasing the injury to your shoulder. Being so out of practice, you could be hurt even worse. I will teach Guinevach.”
“That is very kind of you.” Guinevere retreated to where Brangien and Anna had come down from the booth and were sitting nearby.
“Forgive her,” Anna said, not looking up from the stockings she was darning. “She likes an audience.”
“Yes, I had noticed.” Guinevere watched as the knights gathered, smiling and laughing jovially as they offered pointers. Guinevach was terrible. But there was something artful to her absolute lack of skill. The worse Guinevach shot, the more she pouted, and the more the men consoled her and offered tips and praise for the slightest improvements. Even Arthur was drawn in, laughing at an arrow that failed to go more than two feet. He placed his hands on Guinevach’s arms, standing close behind her as he corrected her posture and guided her position. That arrow flew absolutely true, hitting the center of one of the targets. The men cheered, and Guinevach’s smile as she glanced at Guinevere hit its intended target as well, striking deep.
It had all been an act, and every single man, including Arthur, was falling for it.
“That was wonderful!” Guinevach lowered her bow and beamed at Arthur. “Soon I will be as good as you, Guinevere!”
Guinevere was ready to leave. She had been ready to leave for some time. “I am certain you will surpass me. King Arthur, shall we—”
“There is a play this evening!” Guinevach interrupted. “It should be starting soon. My maid told me about it.”
Guinevere shot a glare at Anna, who shook her head and mouthed, The other maid.